


Learning the Right Notes

by DoYourResearch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Jealousy, Sex, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYourResearch/pseuds/DoYourResearch
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is considering bedding Irene Adler but he refuses to give her power over him. He's trying to find the perfect song to play for her but while he searches, he wants to know how to have casual sex without compromising himself to prepare for their encounter. He could look to the widower John Watson but his affairs always ended in a messy fashion. As luck would have it, he has a new divorcee as a neighbor to give him the female perspective on the matter. He learns from trial and error but finds himself compromised in ways he never imagined.





	1. Chapter 1: An Interesting Introduction

“It gets a bit damp down here but I’ve ordered a dehumidifier to help with it. You’ll just need to empty it every few days. I hope that won’t be a problem,” Mrs. Hudson said hopefully to Jamie Reid, a perspective tenant for the newly renovated 221C. Despite new appliances, modern décor, and a convenient location near the underground, it had been hard to find tenants who wanted to live in the dim basement flat. The windows were level with the ground outside, allowing a spectacular view of the feet of the pedestrians on the pavement or the bins in the back. There was also the trouble of the upstairs tenant and the incessant screeching of his violin. Mrs. Hudson didn’t have it in her heart to lie and tell them it wasn’t a regular occurrence.

For the first time in the past three months of showing the flat, there were no sounds coming from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson was hopeful but then the young woman asked, “Are there other tenants in the building?” She cringed only slightly in response, “We have a consulting detective upstairs. He’s a very unique man but completely harmless.”

Jamie scrunched her nose in thought, reading between the lines of what the elderly woman was saying. She had had her fair share of strange people in art school so it took a lot for her to be concerned. She just had no idea what a consulting detective actually did but she could guess enough. The clean flat was the perfect price for her though and it seemed safe. She had checked flats that had left her terrified. The one before this had even had crowbar marks on the doorframe. It had taken the landlord almost an hour to confess that they were having trouble with a string of unsolved break-ins. She promptly left after that. 

“If you wanted to move in this month I’d be more than happy to pro-rate it and take a little extra off.”

Her voice was optimistic and he hands were clasped together as if she was unknowingly praying her a positive response. Jamie gave the sitting room and kitchen a once over and said, “I’ll take it.”

“Fantastic!” Mrs. Hudson said, releasing her hands just to clap them together again. As soon as the words left her mouth, a whining noise verberated through the vents. Jamie’s eyebrows met in confusion as she asked aloud, “Is that a violin?”

“That would be Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson replied with exacerbation. She made a move to confront the noisemaker but stopped when she realized he was playing actual music and not just obnoxious noises. Jamie found herself smiling, “Is that a regular occurrence?”

Mrs. Hudson considered her words and replied, “It can be.”

Jamie looked longingly at the vent that the sound was coming from and said wishfully, “I could get used to that.”  
\-----------  
Jamie tied up her shoulder length brown hair into a loose bun before pulling her knitted cap on her head. She zipped up her purple winter jacket and slipped her feet into her slippers before grabbing her smoking case. Mrs. Hudson kept the building toasty warm during this brutal winter but she strayed outside several times a day to sit on the cold stoop so she could fill her longs with smoke. It was a terrible habit that she knew she should quit. The cost of living was high enough in London without the small fortune she spent on cigarettes but she found it too relaxing to quit. Of course, she tried in the past but found herself compensating with treats or after work drinks and had put on enough weight that her jeans wouldn’t button. She’d rather a slim figure and a set of black lungs but she could thank her ex-husband for that fear of getting fat. He had pointed out the extra weight at every opportunity he had. It was just another on the list of why their marriage had failed.

Her breath was as visible as the smoke she exhaled and she watched it all disappear into the night time air. It was late and hardly any cars drove by at this hour. Speedy’s was well closed for the night, leaving the pedestrian traffic also lacking. It was the closest thing to being alone outside in London that she ever could find. She hated being crowded but she adored London and all it offered.

After graduating with a degree in studio art, Jamie had hopped around the country with her husband taking odd jobs until she was able to secure a position as a curator for a private collection. She did not know exactly who her employer was but only that they had the money to acquire a handsome collection of modern and post-modern art. She had almost cried a week earlier when, with white-gloved hands, she was able to hold one of Andy Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans. It was at the top of the list of experiences along with acquiring a small study of trees by Vincent Van Gogh at an auction at Sotheby’s and negotiating with a firm from China for a Rothko work. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d be in the position to make 6- or 7-figure sum deals.

Jamie heard the inner door before the front door was open and she looked behind her to see a tall man with erratic curls and cheek bones for days. She knew he was her elusive neighbor but had only seen glimpses of him over the past two months of living within spitting distance of each other. She normally would catch the tail of his coat around the corner or his feet stomping up the stairs. His voice was already a familiar sound as it carried down to her flat through vents often along with the sounds of his violin. She could also hear him when he was in Mrs. Hudson’s flat. She knew they had a close bond despite some of the things she heard her complain about. 

There was another man that came around often. He was shorter but more solid with grey hair and a kind face. He sometimes brought a small girl around and occasionally she heard her cry or babble words. She could hear the connection between her and the mysterious man upstairs. She knew his name was Sherlock Holmes as she had seen his mail mixed with hers and Mrs. Hudson’s on the floor inside the front door. She had heard him say the names John and Rosie. She felt terrible creepy having heard so much of the lives upstairs without every introducing herself, but the right time never seemed to arrive.

“You’re welcome to smoke in my flat if I can have one,” Sherlock said with his baritone voice. The street lamp caused a shadow to fall across half his face from the doorframe. She was already almost done with her smoke but she could always use another. The idea of smoking indoors made her feel uncomfortable but she smelt smoke and other odd things in the hallway before, so she imagined that he was able to get away with a lot when it came to Mrs. Hudson.

Jamie licked her fingers and pinched out the embers. She said nothing and followed her neighbor upstairs, unzipping her jacket and leaving it on the banister for when she returned downstairs. She left her hat and slippers on and eyed Sherlock’s attire.

Despite it being nearly midnight, Sherlock was still dressed in black dress pants and a nearly pristine white collared shirt. His black shoes were polished and reflected the dim lighting of the stairwell. She toed her slippers off at the entrance to 221B out of respect. The motion had been drilled into her head growing up and she could never understand how anyone could allow shoes in the house. She always bit her tongue and ignored her hosts when they told her she could keep her shoes on. 

Sherlock stood in the middle of his sitting room, his back to her and raised his hand out as shadows danced around him from the fireplace. She stared at him in confusion for a moment but when his fingers quickly curled and straightened several times, she understood what he was requesting. She snapped open her case and plucked a cigarette out and rested it on his palm. His hand remained open until she handed him her lighter. 

“Are you familiar with the work of Dmitri Shostakovich?” Sherlock said, catching her off guard as she looked around the room and wondered where she should sit. There was an assortment of things piled on the couch and a complex looking chemistry set was visible from the opening to the kitchen. He turned to face her as he lit the cigarette between his lips, sighing contently as he let the smoke escape his lips.

Jamie felt an inkling of recognition in the name, having minored in music composition. She had considered being a pianist as a fallback but found herself less enthusiastic about playing as it had been the source of the introduction between her and Benjamin Crosthy, her ex-husband, a cellist. She replied hesitantly, “Russian composer,” she said, which was easy to guess his nationality by his name, but then paused nervously as she tried to grasp more details. She hummed for a moment and said, “I believe he lived 1906 to 1975 and, uh, produced over a dozen symphonies and string quartets.” Sherlock looked over ambivalently and hummed but said nothing else. He turned to the couch, keeping his cigarette between his lips, and dramatically swept a number of things off it. He waved to it and said, “Sit.”

Jamie wondered to herself if that was some sort of test but she obeyed and sat on the couch. Sherlock began to pace around the room, taking long drags of his cigarette. She ached to smoke another but he had pocketed her lighter and she was afraid to break his train of thought. He was rather bizarre but a look around the sitting room caused her to believe he might be exceptional. She spotted his gorgeous violin and felt a tug of pain in her chest that he owed a Stradivarius. Benjamin had wanted a Stradivarius cello so badly. It was the dream of any string musician and rightfully so. There were incredible instruments. He had always said that if he won the lottery, it would be the first thing he would buy. She doubted he would ever come across the £3 million or more needed to buy one but it didn’t stop him from wiping out the nearly £30,000 in their bank account they intended to use to buy a flat with on a replica the day after she had the divorce papers served to him. As much as she could have used the money, she considered it money well spent if she didn’t have to see him ever again.

Sherlock finished his cigarette, tossing the filter into the fire before grabbing his violin. He looked to her for a moment but remained silent before taking the bow in his head. He began to play and Jamie recognized after a few bars that it was Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in A minor and he was playing it beautifully. She felt the drama and emotion in every note. She could not take her eyes of him though he stared at seemingly nothing. 

Jamie forgot how late it was and when he concluded nearly forty-five minutes later she was still in awe. “That was incredible,” she told him sincerely. He looked to her without emotion and replied, “Come back tomorrow at the same time. Bring your cigarettes.”  
\-------------------  
Sherlock laid in bed, his head and shoulders inclined on his pillows as he thumbed through text messages on his phone. He found himself going to the one he received nearly a fortnight ago.

_Let’s have dinner. Then I want you to play me a song, but not the one when I died. It’s so pitiful._

He had yet to respond. He never responded but he had been considering it. He wanted to find the perfect song. He wanted to meet her prepared. He couldn’t be the vulnerable sap he had been all those years ago when she pierced his armor. He wanted to use her. He wanted to play the games she played but he couldn’t risk compromise again. She knew he was a virgin despite the fact he spat on the concept. 

Sherlock knew he was playing with fire. He could bed any woman he wanted if he put forth the miniscule effort required but The Woman was a conquest. She was unfinished business that haunted him for years. Logic screamed at him to move on but he felt an itching feeling in him similar to the desire to get high. He wanted to indulge but he would need to calculate and plan as if it were the perfect dose. 

Memories of Irene’s naked form invaded his mind, stealing his attention from the catalogs of sheet music he was sifting through in his mind palace. He had considered writing a new piece for her but that was dangerous territory. It screamed of sentiment. He needed to find a song that would convey his desire to claim her body but let her know that she had no power over him. He was still the victor despite the years since they had played their games. It was just too hard to choose.

Speaking of hard… he palmed his erection through his pajama bottoms, groaning both in annoyance at his own body responding to his thoughts but also in slight satisfaction at the friction. He despised masturbating. It felt like biology was laughing in his face. He was a brilliant man who wanted to be above the needs of the human body. Wanking off was primitive and dirty. Sex was just as bad, but curiosity was getting the better of him. He had never been interested as a teenager but now, he was almost a middle-aged man and he suddenly pondered how sliding into the warm heat of woman would feel.

The consulting detective admitted defeat, lifting his hips enough to push the waist band of his pajama bottoms down his thighs until his cock sprung free, the head already glistening with a few beads of moisture. This was becoming a regular occurrence the past few weeks and he made a mental note to invest in lubricant. He experienced chaffing for the first time the other day. He partook in several personal sessions between his cock and left hand. Nothing had seemed to satisfy him for long. He felt like a pubescent boy.

Sherlock paged through his memories of Irene like he had done before. He particularly enjoyed the view of her wrapped up in his jacket. He changed the scenario, wanting John to have no part in the situation. He moved her outside. They were walking through the streets of London on a cool evening. He could see the bumps on her skin as she shivered, clutching his jacket tighter around her. He knew she was naked underneath and trailed a few paces behind her, hoping that the wind would give him a view that would make him feel a tightness in his groin. He knew what was underneath the jacket, but the teasing nature of the situation excited him. He wondered if she would allow him to steer her into a dark alley. He would pull his cock from his pants while her back still to him before turning her and pressing her against a wall roughly. He imagined her surprise as she gasped at his strength when he picked her up and pinned her against the wall, hearing the sound of the fabric scraping against the bricks. He’d probably scrape his knuckles in the process, but it would be worth it. The jacket would flow open and he’d have her in the perfect position to help her sink on his length.

Just the thought of going that far was enough to cause Sherlock to gasp aloud as he felt the tingly sensation spread across his body. His head was gliding quickly and smoothly on his shaft. He bit his lower lip as he imagined the sounds The Woman would make once he penetrated her and he was gone. Strings of cum shot dribbled on his fist and landed on his leg. His breath was heavy as a frown grew on his face. This was not good. If just the thought of the tip of his penis in a woman was enough to make him cum, he would never be able to expect Irene to take him seriously. 

Unfortunately, it was not an isolated incident. His fantasies never reached a formal conclusion. He didn’t know how to pace himself. He was going to need to research this matter fully before he progressed further. He considered getting advice from John but he knew that would be an awkward and annoying idea. He could just picture John laughing at him and feeling vindicated that the great Sherlock Holmes was heaving wet dreams and a pre-mature ejaculator. He wasn’t too worried about pleasuring a woman. Janine had taught him well and wasn’t put off when he denied himself pleasure during their faux-relationship. He wondered now if he should have pushed that boundary. 

The best choice Sherlock could have made was to forget the idea entirely and focus on cases, no matter how boring or mundane they might be. 

But Sherlock didn’t always make the best choices.


	2. Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP!
> 
> If you already read the first chapter before I posted the second chapter, go back and reread it. I left out a bit at the end of the chapter when I was copying and pasting.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Who kept you up all night?” teased Jessica, Jamie’s lively coworker and friend since the day they started working together. Jessica matched Jamie’s thirty years but acted years younger with her rambunctious spirit. She had long red hair that she dyed religiously on third Sunday of every month and glistening hazel eyes. The two women forged their friendship when they both eyed the same attractive man during their lunch at the café around the corner from the gallery. They smirked to themselves but both huffed “of course” simultaneously when the man sat at a table and kissed his boyfriend. They looked to each other and giggled hysterically.

Jamie rolled her eyes, sipping her coffee before going back to cataloging slides from a collection that was being offered to her employer by pieces of interest to the collection they maintained. Jamie focused on acquiring the work while Jessica’s talents were focused on restoration and repairs. Like the half-dozen other employees, they had no idea who they actually worked for. Their checks were consistent and generous so it left no room for complaining. 

Jamie replied unenthusiastically though he felt otherwise, “I met my neighbor in the flat upstairs last night.” She showed signs of exhaustion after she had trouble falling asleep after her encounter with Sherlock Holmes. She found him intriguing and mysterious. The exact thing that she needed to avoid. She considered his demand to return that evening, but it was useless. She would absolutely be there.

“Ohhh, was he handsome?” Jessica questioned, playing with some of the loose slides on the desk that unofficially had become the rejection pile. Jamie shrugged, “I guess but he’s rather strange. He invited me to his flat and barely said a word to me.”

“So you shagged him!” Jessica squealed in delight. Jamie rolled her eyes once more, “No, I did not shag him. He doesn’t seem like the shagging type.”

Jessica moved her chair closer and lowered her voice, “Is he gay?” She shook her head, “I don’t know. He just played his violin all night. He’s quite talented.” Her friend hummed, “So, he’s good with his fingers then…”

“Christ!” Jamie explained with a laugh, “Stop fantasizing about my neighbor. I have to face him again tonight and I don’t want to think about half the things you’re saying.” The red head giggled, “A second date then?”

“He just wants to smoke my cigarettes and will probably have me listen to him play again,” she answered. She internally cried thinking about being up so late again but curiosity was winning her over. She wanted to know more about the detective upstairs but not because of the reasons her coworker was talking about. 

Jessica went on about Sherlock before she changed the subject to the fling she had the night before with a law student. Jamie promptly tuned her out until she begged her to come out for drinks after work. She really wanted to go home and nap but Jessica’s pleading won her over.

“Fine, now leave me be so I can finish sorting through these slides without you messing up my piles!” Jamie ordered. Her friend blew her a kiss and said, “It’s a date.”  
\-------------  
Sherlock woke up after the sun had set. He had fallen asleep well after the sun had risen so it wasn’t too surprising. He had spent the dark hours of the morning creating a spread sheet to track data regarding his sexual efficiency. 

He intended to track his diet, sleep, exercise, work, and socialization habits to see if there would be any correlation between them and the time it would take to achieve an orgasm. He hypothesized that if he were to keep a normal sleep cycle (starting tomorrow), maintain a sufficient caloric intake, and limit his exertions throughout the day to fall within normal daytime hours, he could achieve peak performances. He considered how socialization might affect his performance. 

It was his socialization with the Woman that put him in this position in the first place. He considered he may need to expand his experiences discussing intercourse with other people who had more to offer than whips and chains. He also contemplated pornography but remembered coming across a sampling on John’s computer years ago and had been thoroughly repulsed by the noises the women had made and the absence of pubic hair that made them look disturbingly childish. He may be biased because Irene had been well groomed but retained the hair at the apex of her legs. 

Sherlock worked on a meal plan that would allow him to satisfy the perfect ratio of macronutrients to provide him with ample energy and stamina. He emailed a shopping list to Mrs. Hudson though she wouldn’t be able to open read it without John’s assistance. He also calculated what would be the ideal amount of cardio and strength training. He knew he would need to start lifting weights if he wanted to fuck Irene Adler against a wall without stopping for a break. He would give her no reason to mock him. His final task had been making a schedule that clearly labeled his intended sleep cycle, workouts, and consulting hours. Should Lestrade or any client arrive outside those hours, he would refuse them no matter how enticing the case might be.

As the consulting detective researched gyms near his flat, he heard laughter out on the street. He huffed in annoyance and slapped his laptop shut on the kitchen table. He made a mental note to dispose of the chemicals and body parts in the flat. If he was going to cleanse his body of anything that could affect his libido, he would need to be consistent.

Sherlock parted the curtains with a single finger and glanced down to the sidewalk. His neighbor was laughing as she watched a man clumsily pay the cabbie. It only took a moment for him to deduce that she had gone out for drinks after work and found an imbecile to take home for the evening. The man was clearly a commitment-phobe with a drinking problem who couldn’t hold down a job. He didn’t need to deduce anything about Jamie as he had picked up her history between the gossip from Mrs. Hudson and the security report from his brother. 

Once the driver was paid, he sped off, leaving the inebriated pair to clash together as they stumbled toward the entrance to the building. Sherlock rolled his eyes at their drunken displays and left the window to return to his planning. He sat back down at the kitchen table and reopened his laptop.

He found very quickly that he could not focus once he heard his neighbor and her guest attempt to be quiet as they snuck past Mrs. Hudson’s door. They were still laughing and he cringed at the sound of several moans along the way. He realized just how quiet she had been the past few months when he discovered how easily he could hear noises from the basement flat through his vents. He threw himself on the couch and covered his head with a decorative cushion in attempts to block the noise but it was of no use. 

Sherlock did not want to go out, so he did the only thing he could think of to help himself in this situation. He made notes.

It wasn’t very hard for him to determine what was happening. When just the stranger was moaning, he was positive that Jamie was performing fellatio. When he heard only her cry out, he made note of the effects of cunnilingus. He marked the length of time each act took though he imagined he made be off by several seconds due to not being able to observe if contact was being made post-climax. He also determined that his neighbor most definitely faked an orgasm upon penetration. He made a side-note to research more about pleasure inhibition when using a condom. He had heard her instruct him to put one on before intercourse. He was surprised how long the man lasted considering his intoxicated state. Maybe there was a relation between alcohol consumption and duration?

Sherlock was not going to blur the lines of consent by taking any type of impairing substance. He thought of when the Woman had injected him with a strong sedative and hoped that it would not be a reoccurring event. He rubbed his shoulder at the memory. 

When everything was done, Sherlock considered what post-coitus behavior might entail. Janine had always wanted to cuddle after an orgasm. He had seen how affectionate John and Mary had been when they snuck off for a quick affair when they thought no one was noticing. It just made him more surprised when he heard Jamie say less than enthusiastically, “Well, that was great but I have to be up early in the morning.”

“Yeah,” said the man, “mind if I use the loo before I go.” He didn’t sound offended and she did not sound needy at all. Had she really just used that man without any emotional attachment at all? He hadn’t expected that from a woman who had previously been married. If she didn’t have a sense of commitment she never would have married in the first place. He was aware she had filed for the divorce but she showed no indications of having any type of extra-marital affair. He suspected an abusive spouse or compulsive spender. He would find out the details later.

It did not take long before he heard footsteps in the foyer. He returned to the window to see the man on the street, hailing a cab as calmly as if he had just left the office. He wanted to go outside and interview the man for data but John’s voice was in his head telling him that was not what normal people do. He sighed in annoyance as he watched him enter the back of cab before turning away from the window once more. His violin was in reach and he grabbed it, plucking roughly at the strings as he considered what he wanted to play to clear his mind. If he was going to start sleeping on a normal schedule, he was going to have to go to bed soon despite only being awake for a few hours. 

Sherlock flipped pages in his mind before settling on a rather dramatic piece. He grabbed his bow and began to play while casually pacing around the sitting room.

Only a few minutes passed before Sherlock heard soft footsteps on the stairs. He continued playing as if he heard nothing and was not surprised to see his neighbor standing in the door in pajamas bottoms and an oversized t-shirt. She clutched her cigarette case in her hand and smiled sheepishly toward him. He huffed angrily and lowered his instrument.

“You’re early,” he said.

It was nearly eleven. She blushed though her face was still slightly red from her earlier exertions. She frowned, “I’m sorry. I heard you already start playing. I thought I’d come up sooner as I need to go to bed earlier than I did last night.”

“Very well,” Sherlock said before holding his hand out. Jamie understood and silently opened her case, removing her new lighter and a cigarette and placing it into his hand. This time she waited until he lit the cigarette and held her hand out for her lighter. He returned it and then motioned for her to sit.

Sherlock inhaled deeply and asked, “How is life in 221C treating you?” She looked surprised to be asked such a normal question after he had been mostly silent the night before. She sat down and said, “It’s been well. I have a lovely land lady to keep an eye on things and a talented musician to entertain me.”

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” Sherlock sneered. Her eyes widened at his demeanor but she tried to deflect the tension by lighting her own cigarette. She then asked, “Was that Joachim you were just playing?” He replied, “Yes, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“What were you thinking of?” she asked curiously, enjoying the topic even if his attitude was abrasive. She rarely spoke of classical music anymore. He shrugged and replied much more calmly, “Perhaps Minkus.”

“Don Quixote?” she responded. He nodded but then said, “Or perhaps Clara Schumann.” Jamie grinned with a distant look in her eye, “I used to play the piano in 3 Romances with an old roommate of mine.” 

“Ugh,” Sherlock said, “I don’t know!”

The outburst caught her off guard and she gasped in terror as he tossed the nearly priceless instrument carelessly on the couch while taking a long drag from his cigarette. He looked at the smoking stick and said, “This will be my last one for a while.”

“It’s a hard habit to break,” she said knowingly. He arched an eyebrow and said, “Did your guest take offense to your smoking habit?”

There was a long pause before Jamie stuttered, “S-s-sorry… my guest?” Her face heated and her cheeks burned redder than before. He asked with a more curious tone, “Was he also a smoker?” If he had had the opportunity to get closer to the man, he would have known the answer. He would just have to make due getting the data from her instead.

“I don’t think he smoked,” Jamie said cautiously. She frowned and said, “How did you know?”

Sherlock knew better than to tell her that he had not only seen but clearly heard them. He simply replied, “I saw a man leaving the building before. I expected he was a gentleman caller of yours.”

“He won’t be back,” Jamie was quick to dismiss the man. Sherlock smirked, sensing his foot in the door. He asked, “Was it that bad?” He observed as her neck turned red and she began to roll the cigarette between her fingers. He was making her uncomfortable, but she looked eager to vent.

Jamie sighed, “I got mine, but I honestly could have gotten the same with my left hand.” 

So, the noises she made were definitely for show. They did sound a little forced and reminded him once more of the videos on John’s laptop. He replied in a sympathetic tone, “Most men simply don’t understand female anatomy.”

She gave him a suspicious look but nodded, “That’s about right.” She took a deep inhale of her cigarette and said, “I’m guessing you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“I have _a_ woman in mind but no,” Sherlock replied, blushing slightly himself. He had so many more questions he wanted to ask Jamie for his research, but he needed to ease into. He needed to build trust and a friendship with her. He could tell she would speak freely about sex but only with people she was comfortable with.

“And I’m guessing you don’t have a boyfriend?” he asked back. She chuckled sarcastically, “God no, dating’s been quite shite since I got divorced.” He grinned internally as he saw his chance, “Cheating husband?”

Jamie laughed, “I wish! He was a right bastard though. The things he would say to me were vicious. Then he pissed all our money away and said I was the one to blame!” He continued with his understanding tone, a complete change from his earlier one now that he knew he would not be able to get away with it if he wanted her to stay. 

“I’m sure you’ll find someone better than him. It’s good that you left,” he said. She laughed, “No way in hell will I marry again after that mess. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m fine with a random top off here and there. That will do me nicely from here on out.”

Sherlock smiled, feeling as if he had just won the jackpot knowing that tonight was not going to be an isolated incident. The data he could collect from her could be plentiful. He agreed with her, “I know exactly what you mean.” She met his eyes with a curious look but said nothing. He could sense her searching for something on his face. He smiled politely, finished his cigarette, and asked, “Would you like to join me up here for a drink on Saturday?”

Jamie paused, considering the offer. Was he trying to get in her pants? She was half-convinced he was gay, not that she would care if he was. She knew better than to sleep with someone she lived just underneath and she imagined he felt similarly. If it was just a drink, she could handle that. Besides, she needed to branch out and make more friends, like the tasty copper that she had seen once or twice in the foyer. She took one last drag of her cigarette and replied, “I’ll bring up a bottle of wine.”


	3. Chapter 3: The First Mess

The rest of Jamie’s week was a whirlwind of negotiations and late nights spent schmoozing with perspective buyers after she received an email stating their client had suddenly changed his interests and wanted to focus his collection on the Futurism movement from the early 20th century. While she was relieved they were keeping some of her favorite modern and post-modern works in the collection, she was disappointed to see them moved into long-term storage. She found herself frequently visiting Jessica’s work area to catch glimpses of some of the last restorations before they disappeared into crates.

The week had not been all bad though. Due to the extra hours, she was given an allowance for cab fare and was happy to sleep in a few extra minutes every morning and be spared a crowded ride on the tube. She had also heard from a mutual friend that her ex-husband had been arrested for trespassing when a man came home to find him in his bathroom after shagging his wife. The wife was sticking to her story that she did not know him and that he was an intruder. It brought a smile to her face throughout her busy days.

Jamie had intended to turn in early on Friday when she arrived to Baker Street. She was surprised when she saw the silver haired copper she had eyed a few times over the past few months. He stood outside, shifting from one foot to another with his shoulders hunched. His nose and cheeks were red from the painfully cold air. 

“Can I help you?” she asked, holding her keys at the ready as he turned to face her. He smiled hesitantly and said, “You’re the new tenant, right?”

Jamie nodded, “Are you looking for Sherlock?”

“Yeah, I have a case for him but he’s not opening the bloody door. I swear I saw him at the window,” Greg grumbled before looking up at them. It was dark out and all he could see now were the curtains and the reflection of the lights in the street on the glass.

While she did not know the man personally, she knew he was typically welcome at Baker Street. Also, he was with the police. She pointed to the door with her keys and said, “I can let you in, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great, love,” he said eagerly and stepped aside for Jamie to approach the door. She unlocked the door and Greg allowed her to enter the warm building first. He sighed with relief as he felt the heated air hit his skin. He looked up the stairs as Jamie unraveled the grey scarf around her neck and said, “I’m Greg Lestrade, by the way.” He held a hand out to her which she took in her gloved hand, “I’m Jamie Reid. I’ve seen you around before.”

“Yeah,” Greg replied with a smile that showed off his boyish charm, “I work for Scotland Yard. Unfortunately, I have to rely on that tosser upstairs when I’ve hit a dead end.”

His tone was affectionate regarding her neighbor, so she took no offense to his words. She replied politely, “It’s nice to properly meet you, Mr. Lestrade.”

“It’s actually Detective Inspector,” he blurted out. His tan skin turned a few shades of red though she knew it was not because of the cold that they had come in from. He shook his head, “Well, it’s Greg. Just Greg, if you’d like.” She showed her teeth in a genuine smile at his recovery attempts and said, “Well, Just Greg, I hope Sherlock can help you with what you need tonight.”

Jamie slipped her hand from his, neither realizing they had held hands for several moments. He blinked at her as she turned and walked down the hallway before coming back to his senses. He looked up the stairs again and saw the door was closed. He bounded up the stairs and knocked on the door loudly.

“Oy! Sherlock, open up!” Greg called out. He heard heavy footsteps before the door opened and he was faced with an angry consulting detective. He growled, “Could you not take the hint when you were outside that I don’t want to be disturbed?”

“I’ve got a murder for you that I think you’ll lo-”

“I texted you my consulting hours two days ago. If you need my assistance you can request my services Monday between the hours of 9am to 5pm,” Sherlock said sharply, indicating every syllable clearly. Greg stared at his friend and colleague with a bewildered expression, “You were serious about that, mate?”

“Deadly serious,” Sherlock replied. Before Greg could protest further, Sherlock stepped back and slammed the door in his face. He looked affronted at the wood before him for several seconds before admitting defeat. He made a mental note to have a conversation with John about this. He turned around and walked down the stairs with heavy footsteps. When he reached the bottom and placed his hand on the front door, he paused for a moment. He looked down the hallway to the archway for the basement stairs and muttered to himself, “What the hell…”

Greg quietly walked down the hallway and descended the dim stairwell until he stood before a door similar to the one that was just slammed in his face. He wondered if he should, but just for a moment, before he raised his fist and knocked gently with his knuckles. He heard the movement within the basement flat and waited patiently. It took almost a minute for the door to open and he was met with a surprised Jamie saying, “Oh!”

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon, Just Greg,” she teased, casually crossing her arms across her chest. She had already removed her outerwear and was standing before him in black dress plants and a grey, fitted mock turtle neck. He smiled and said, “I just wanted to come down and thank you for letting me in. Princess Sherlock wasn’t in the mood to help but it’s a relief knowing he was alive up and there and not… you know?”

Jamie’s brows nearly collided together with confusion as she said, “No, I don’t know.” She looked up at the vent near the ceiling. It had been relatively quiet since she last visited him. She had not heard any music in days and she found herself missing it. 

“Oh,” Greg said nervously, “I thought John and Mrs. H might have given you the heads up.” She was further perplexed by what he was suggesting but told him, “I haven’t met John and Mrs. Hudson hasn’t said anything besides he’s an odd fellow.”

Greg blushed and replied hesitantly, “I don’t want to be the one to say… not much of a fan of gossiping. I’ll have John pop down here one of these days and give you the crash course on our boy upstairs.”

“Sounds… interesting,” Jamie replied, crossing her arms a little tighter. The detective inspector looked distraught with himself. He had clearly dug a hole he had not intended to and was trying to get back out. He decided it would be best to retreat.

“Right,” he said, looking her over, “I should probably head back to the office. It’s going to be a long night.” She nodded politely as he rocked nervously on his heels for a moment before saying, “If you ever want to get a drink or anything, just pop me a text.” She smiled incredulously at his forwardness despite the cold barrier she was presenting. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slipped out an ivory business card and presented it to her, “You’ll at least want to keep this on hand in case of anything happens. You’ll not want to call 112 when it comes to Sherlock.”

Jamie held no loyalties to Sherlock, but she did not want to tarnish her opinion of him on the words of people she didn’t quite know. Still, she took the card that Greg offered and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Right,” he said again, “I’ll be off then.” He nodded his head politely before turning from the door and walking back up the stairs. He mentally cursed himself for his stupidity though he didn’t know that Jamie’s eyes followed him up the stairs until he was out of view. She quietly closed her door and went to the kitchen and used a magnet to hold the card on her fridge. She stared at the stark white piece of cardstock for a few moments before opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of wine.  
\-------------------------  
Sherlock listened to the conversation happening in the basement by sitting on the floor next to the vent at the base of his sitting room wall. He frowned at the comments that Lestrade had made and added it to his mental calendar to have a discussion with him about making passes at his neighbor. He had not touched any type of illegal substance in over a year. His nicotine patch usage may fluctuate at times and his caffeine consumption could be rather excessive, but he considered himself well behaved since the events at Sherrinford. Regardless, his past usage should be a topic of conversation, especially when Jamie had yet to be casually threatened by his brother.

The consulting detective was keeping Mycroft at bay, not allowing him to approach his neighbor while he learned what he could about her. His elder sibling wanted to approach her as soon as she began inhabiting 221C but he wouldn’t hear of it. She had been properly screened by his men as soon as Mrs. Hudson had her sign the lease agreement. Sherlock would have made more progress in his assessment of the younger woman had he not been wrapped up in a complex case that Interpol had presented to him just days after she had moved in.

Now that he had a new goal that he was focusing on, he could not let his best source of data be frightened away. He wouldn’t be able to tell Mycroft exactly why he was worried about her being intimidated. His brother had already teased him about sex for decades. He had been so smug when he came home during holiday from university when Sherlock was twelve. He bragged about how a girl in his philosophy class had asked him to tutor her and thanked him for his time with a hand-job under a library table. The next year he spoke fondly of a soft-spoken boy that he made love to under the stars. Mycroft’s bisexuality had not alarmed him, even at that age. Sherlock used that time to study the works of Kinsey and other sexologists to understand what was happening instead of asking his parents. He had overheard a classmate tell other boys in his class about how his parents gave him a talk called “The Birds and the Bees,” and he wanted to avoid that conversation with his parents at all cost. He knew his brother’s sex life had become stagnant once he became employed by the government. Even if he was willing to accept Mycroft’s judgement, he wanted information from this decade. His brother’s sex life could very well be fossilized with the dinosaur bones at the Natural History Museum. 

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle knock at his door. He had been in such deep thought he had not heard the footsteps on the stairs. He could tell by the barely-there contact made on the wood that it was his neighbor hesitating her decision to disturb him. He quickly pushed himself off the floor and opened the door for her.

“Hi,” Jamie said as soon as his face met hers. She wore her clothes from the day but was barefoot despite the cold floors from her journey from the basement. She looked fatigued though he imagined it was amplified by the mascara and eyeliner she hadn’t quite fully removed, leaving a grey tint around her eyes. If Lestrade had flirted with her in this state, his standards were drastically falling. He gave her a peculiar look before saying, “It’s not Saturday.”

She had been offering a hopeful but friendly smile, along with a bottle of wine, that fell into a drowsy frown. The brunette replied, “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I haven’t heard you play anything the past few days.”

Sherlock wanted to make a snide comment about her conversation with the detective inspector, but he could not let her know he could hear every noise from her flat. Even he knew that would be a terrible idea that would scare her far, far away.

He nodded his head to the side to invite her in as he stepped away from the door. He wanted to stick to his new sleep schedule, but he felt he needed to do some damage control after his conversation with his colleague. He would just have to play the role of the somewhat friendly neighbor.

“I wasn’t sure what to play,” Sherlock said honestly. His verbalization of the truth surprised even himself. Jamie said nothing as she stepped into the 221B, feeling the extra warmth from the active fireplace. He waved to the couch and asked, “Did you have any suggestions?”

Jamie hummed in thought as she considered what she wanted to hear. She didn’t want to admit that she had come up to have him play because she slept better on the nights he did. She had also come upstairs to see if she could spot any worrying traits about him after her conversation with Greg.

“Manuel Ponce?” she asked, remembering the time she had traveled with her then-fiancé to Poland to see the violinist Emanuel Salvador perform Ponce’s Violin Concerto with the Polish Youth Orchestra. They had gone one evening while they were in Krakow. They had made the trip when a painting she had submitted for exhibition had been accepted and they used the exhibit opening as an excuse to go on holiday. 

Sherlock looked at her with consideration, playing the same composition in his mind before nodding, “Very well.” He went across the room and picked up his violin. After checking that the instrument was tuned, he looked to her and said, “There are glasses in the cabinet over the sink, but I don’t imbibe.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t need to drink if you don’t,” Jamie said, wondering if Sherlock’s hidden secret was that he was an alcoholic. She began to offer to take it downstairs when Sherlock intervened, “Drinking is not a vice of mine. I just don’t like the affects it has on my mind.” She blushed slightly and then admitted defeat by wandering into the kitchen. The chemistry set she had seen before was gone and the room looked freshly scrubbed and smelled of lemon-scented cleaner. She found a wine glass over the sink as Sherlock had advised her and took the liberty to cautiously open a few drawers before she find a corkscrew.

Sherlock did not wait for her to come back to the sitting room to begin playing. She smiled to herself while her back faced him as she poured a generous glass of the red wine. She recorked the bottle and carried it to the fridge so she could keep it chilled. She opened the door as Sherlock halted his playing. He yelled, “No!”

Jamie gasped, jumping back and dropping the bottle as she saw the contents of the fridge. On a platter one might serve at a Christmas dinner was a human foot. Its skin was yellow and dehydrated and its toenails painted purple. She wanted to scream but her voice was caught in her throat. She stumbled back into the kitchen table, her bare feet slipping on the now wet linoleum floor. She could hardly register the small pebbles of glass digging into her heels.

Sherlock set his violin down hastily on the table and approached her, putting his hands on her shoulder to stabilize her and said, “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” she hollered, “You have a foot in your fridge! Did you kill a person? Oh my god, that’s what Greg was trying to warn me about!”

“What?!” Sherlock said with clear annoyance, “I’m not a murderer.” He spun her around and moved her away from the mess she had just made and kicked the fridge door shut. She struggled against him, but he easily overpowered her with the leverage his height gave him. She tried to shoulder her way as he pushed her into the chair in the sitting room and pinned her arms to the armrest to keep her down.

Jamie still tried to rip her arms away, but his weight kept them down and she had sat do far back in the chair that her feet could not touch the floor, giving her no traction to kick him back. He glared at her angrily until she stopped struggling. Her chest heaved with her erratic breaths and her face was burning red. 

“If you don’t let me up, I’ll scream,” Jamie threatened. Sherlock rolled his eyes and replied, “And all you’d do is wake up Mrs. Hudson with your nonsense.”

 

“Nonsense?!” Jamie cried out, “You’re a murd-”

“I’m not a murder and I can explain if you’d just shut your mouth,” Sherlock said with a fierce resentment in his eyes. She was caught off guard by his cruel but composed expression. She ground her teeth together and searched his face for any sign of immediate danger. She couldn’t imagine why any non-murderous person could have body parts in their fridge, but she had been living under the same roof as him for a few months and if he had any intention of hurting her, he would have done so already. She considered perhaps that maybe the basement flat was a fodder for his predilections and Mrs. Hudson was his handler. Even if he hadn’t intended on bringing her to an untimely death, she now knew his secret and he was most likely going to kill her now. 

When Jamie said nothing in response, Sherlock took it as permission to speak. He refused to remove himself from her forearms but released his tight grip, leaving white impressions of his fingertips that quickly turned a deep red. She would have bruises to account for in the morning, but neither were concerned about that in the moment.

“As you’ve been made aware, I’m a consulting detective,” Sherlock started, not hiding the disdain in his voice for the situation they were in, “I am the person that the police come to when they lack the imagination, knowledge, or skill to solve their own crimes.”

Jamie opened her mouth to make a comment about his own crime but he was quick to talk over her, “I obtain the occasional body part from Dr. Molly Hooper, a pathologist in the morgue of St. Bart’s. It is _mostly_ legal and come from bodies donated to science that died in ways unrelated to me.”

His neighbor’s stare diffused into a curious expression as she took in his words. He was relieved that she appeared to be listening to him. He really did not want to have to explain to Lestrade’s men about how he scared his neighbor. It was bad enough his kitchen floor was covered in red wine. The smell of the moderately priced drink overtook the flat, but he’d have to make do until someone cleaned it up. Preferably not him though.

There was a lengthy pause before Jamie spoke, now calm though quite annoyed to still be restrained, “How does keeping a foot in your fridge help you solve crimes?”

The question was unexpected by Sherlock. He was anticipating offending words, threats of going to the police, or even the promised scream. He was rather impressed by her regained composure. He looked down at her arms, forgetting for a moment that he was holding her down. He removed his hands before standing straight up. He responded to her question as he brushed at the wrinkles on his shirt

“Thanks,” she muttered as she rubbed at her forearms while Sherlock stood back. He replied, “I was testing the fibers of different socks and the traces left behind under toenails after long exposures to the elements.” She gave him a slightly skeptical look before simply saying, “Why?”

Sherlock dove straight into his explanation, “I’m trying to determine the effect different materials have on the body during long periods of exposure. While there are methods to estimate the time a person has been dead or left out in the elements, I’m trying to gather data on specific areas of the body so that a more thorough and supportive conclusion can be established.”

“Right,” Jamie said blankly, “I need a smoke.” She stood up and reached to her back pocket before cringing. She most definitely crushed her pack. She opened the case and sighed at the nearly full pack. She managed to pluck out a bent cigarette and gently straightened it. She then looked down at her bare feet and could see the skin stained an almost purple color from the wine. She sighed and said, “I’ll clean the mess as soon as I’m done.” 

Since Sherlock had said the other night that he was quitting, she decided it was best to smoke outside again. She would have to go to the basement for her shoes or else her poor toes would most likely freeze off, even if she stood on the mat in front of the door. Sherlock watched her make her way from the door and said, “You can still smoke in here. I don’t mind.” She turned back and asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll even play some Mozart,” he offered. She chuckled, “Well, if you’re playing Mozart, how can I refuse?”

Sherlock waved for her to retake her seat while he grabbed his violin. She lit her cigarette as he began to play Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 5. She watched him calmly as she sat bank and sank further and further into the soft seat, forgetting everything that had happened. She waved her cigarette gently as if she were conducting and closed her eyes, taking in every note.


End file.
